


Umbrella Porn, Basically

by WhatIsAir



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Umbrella Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:21:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIsAir/pseuds/WhatIsAir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look at the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Umbrella Porn, Basically

The door thudded close with a resounding clang.

Mycroft stopped in front of the prisoner, a steel table between them, and leaned his weight on his umbrella, scrutinizing the figure before him.

The captive appeared entirely at ease, lounging as much as he could in the chair, with his hands cuffed to the table. Dressed impeccably in a crisp Westwood suit, along with stylishly slicked hair, the brunette would not have looked out of place on a fashion runway.

Jim Moriarty flicked bored eyes up at the embodiment of the British government, and drawled, “So pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Mr Holmes.”

“I cannot say the sentiment is returned,” Mycroft replied crisply, his lip curling with distaste as Moriarty tipped his chair back onto two legs, reclining on it rather precariously.

“What? Not pleased to see me? You must be special, darling,” the consulting criminal cooed, as he began rocking the chair back and forth, his dark eyes dancing with manic amusement.

Mycroft pursed his lips. “You do know we have sufficient evidence to bring down you and your network of criminal activity from Berlin to Beijing, so unless you wish to spend the remainder of your days in pai-”

“Oh, spare me the death threats, dear, you know they only turn me on,” Moriarty smirked, his tongue darting out to lick at thin lips, glancing rather coyly up at Mycroft with obsidian eyes.

Mycroft’s grip on the umbrella’s handle slipped slightly, and he straightened his posture imperceptibly.

“Sometimes, I don’t know why they bother,” the consulting criminal continued, unsmiling now, gaze boring unwaveringly into Mycroft’s, still rocking infuriatingly on his chair, tipping it further back each time.

“They think I fear pain, death, torture. I don’t. Nothing you can do to me will change that. You see, that’s where darling Sherlock and I are different – he’s got his mind and heart so wrapped up with that insipid pet of his – it’s his weakness.

“And soon I’ll burn him. I will burn the heart out of him. And you – baby, I’ll watch you standing by to pick up what’s left of him. It’ll be so much fuuun, taking him apart piece by piec-”

The tip of Mycroft’s umbrella gave a deft swipe at Moriarty’s chair from under the table.

Mycroft watched dispassionately as the chair over-balanced and tipped over backwards, crashing to the floor, its occupant sent sprawling in an ungainly tangle of limbs.

The elder Holmes took measured steps around the table, twirling his umbrella, a calculating look in his eyes.

Moriarty peered up at him somewhat blearily (he had hit his head on the floor pretty hard). “Being childish now, are we?” he giggled, thumping his head back against the floor, “And I thought you were above this kind of immature –”

For the second time in less than five minutes Moriarty was cut off by Mycroft, this time in the form of an umbrella tip being shoved into his mouth.

“Nngh-” the consulting criminal gasped, struggling to dislodge the object from his lips, eyes dark with rage as he glowered up at a smirking Mycroft, whose only response was to twist the umbrella further in.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Jim,” Mycroft practically purred, keeping a firm hold on the umbrella to ensure Moriarty’s discomfort, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my brother, I would strongly advise against your harming him in any way.”

Moriarty quirked a sardonic brow at that, eyes flashing mischievously, as he gave a throaty rumble around his mouthful of umbrella, before suddenly relaxing around the tip, allowing its intrusion.

Mycroft heard a soft gasp fall from his own lips as the man below him began delicately – there was no other word for it – nibbling on the tip of his umbrella, eyes falling shut as though savouring the bitter wooden taste of it. Moriarty hollowed his cheeks and took the umbrella impossibly deeper, going so far as to swirl his tongue around the tip, the muscles in his neck arching beautifully.

The grip Mycroft had on the umbrella having long since gone slack, Moriarty made use of his new found freedom to bring his still-cuffed hands up to caress the umbrella’s sleek form, stroking lovingly up and down its sides, never once stopping as he mouthed its tip.

Then Moriarty’s eyes snapped open, intense gaze leveled on Mycroft, pupils dilated with desire and carnal want, as he continuously lavished attention on the umbrella, of which Mycroft was starting to feel irrationally jealous of. The consulting criminal managed a coy wink, as though he knew exactly what Mycroft was thinking, all the while sucking daintily at the umbrella.

Mycroft had wrenched his umbrella away from that sinful mouth before he quite knew what he was doing. In a single, fluid motion he had Moriarty by the lapels and their faces mere inches apart.

“Don’t – just – don’t,” he breathed, struggling to maintain his composure, lest he admit defeat.

Moriarty was panting slightly from the exertion, though a triumphant grin threatened to split his face. “Poor dear, you’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

When Mycroft gave no response he continued, “So this is what we’re going to do, Myc. Can I call you Myc?” He laughed rather manically, “You’re going to tell me all about dear Sherlock, and in return, I promise I’ll try not to destroy him.”

All traces of humour vanished from Moriarty’s countenance in an instant, and he closed the distance between them, speaking directly into Mycroft’s ear.

“Do we have an understanding, Mr Holmes?”


End file.
